


Crimson and Royal Blue

by Yolatirra



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Because Roy is beautiful when he's getting fucked, Bisexual Edward Elric, Bisexual Roy Mustang, Bisexual Winry Rockbell, Colorblind Roy, Demisexual Edward Elric, F/F, F/M, M/M, More tags will be added as they become relevant, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Roy is probably gonna bottom at some point, Specifically Tritanopia or something like it, lesbian paninya
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-12-24 18:23:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21103949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yolatirra/pseuds/Yolatirra
Summary: It's been five years since Ed's seen Roy Mustang. That wouldn't be noteworthy, except that somewhere in those years his brain got the idea that he'd kinda like to have sex with the bastard. And that would be fucking weird on it's own, even without the fact that he definitely still loves Winry. But after three years away from Amestris, doubts have started to creep in. Could a relationship between him and Winry even work? Would it be fair to her, if he spends half his years traveling?Much as he hasn't wanted to admit it, he's been running from the tangled emotions waiting for him back home. When he hears Mustang is heading the peace talks with Creta near the border, he decides it's as good an excuse as any to go back. Maybe, if he sees Mustang again, his brain will remember how much of a stupid irritating bastard he is and these very weird and inconvenient feelings will go away. Then at least facing Winry will be simpler.But of course nothing goes to plan and someone blows up the peace talks. As Ed and Roy get tangled up in the plots of leaders and rulers, their path plagued by reminders of their pasts and Amestris's bloody history, they discover their futures may have become irrevocably entwined.





	1. Ed

**Author's Note:**

> So. Here I am again, starting to post another long fic I haven't finished yet. I don't have a good record of finishing long fics, but this fic has dug its way into my mind and soul like no long fanfic I've tried to write has before, so while I make no promises, I might actually finish this one.
> 
> This fic started about a year ago when I finished my first rewatch of Brotherhood in several years and the loudest thought in my head was "POLYAMORY, DAMN IT!", because all the ships are good and I want all of them at once. Turns out there's not much polyamory in this fandom, or at least that I can find, so I resolved to write some. And then plot happened, and more plot happened, and MORE plot happened, and here we are. 
> 
> The Creta in this fic probably has little or nothing to do with the Star of Milos movie, which I haven't even seen. I basically read the FMA Wiki entry on Creta and then worldbuilt the hell out of it. 
> 
> There's several OCs, three or four of which play a significant role in the plot, but the focus is always firmly on the FMA characters. 
> 
> The primary relationship is definitely Roy/Ed, with Ed/Winry secondary. Roy and Riza still aren't together, but are very much in love and they're a little more willing to show affection, and Winry/Paninya is mostly background. Al/May gets a couple of mentions but May isn't in this fic since she's in Xing for the whole thing.
> 
> Since I'm not done with this fic yet there's a slight chance I'll have to pop back into older chapters to fiddle with things. If I do, I'll make a note of it.
> 
> I've mostly decided to start posting this because I keep fiddling with the first two chapters instead of writing more of it, so if I just get those chapters out into the world, I'll have to move on. 
> 
> Chapter 1 is significantly shorter than most will be. Most are like, 5-8k.

Ed rolled his right shoulder, carefully lifting his suitcase as he stepped off the train. He winced at the jolt of pain that shot up his neck. It hadn’t even been one of Creta’s more uncomfortable trains and somehow sleeping on the seat had made him ache? It had even been a padded bench. Scowling, he pressed his knuckles into the back of his shoulder, trying to loosen the muscles as he headed out of the station. 

Pentroc wasn't a small town, but it wasn’t a city either. The station was busy, but only had two platforms, and despite its central location he could see fields covering the hills only a couple miles away. It was, however, the largest Cretan town within twenty miles of the Amestrian border, which was probably why it'd been picked to host the peace talks. It even had a suitably official-looking building for it, a large town hall that was probably older than most of Amestris, with high stone pillars and extensive decorative tile work. He remembered the awe he’d felt looking up at it the first time he’d passed through the town, when he’d first left Amestris. It’d been the first of many reminders that Creta was much older than Amestris, that their past that was still their own, not twisted and warped by the homunculis’ long reign.

The Amestrian border kept drawing his gaze—not that he could see it, exactly, but he knew which direction was north-east and he knew where the official crossing sat in the surrounding geography. This was the closest he'd been to Amestris in three years. The peace talks in Aerugo had been further from the border, as things hadn’t been quite as tense between them and Amestris. He kept pulling his gaze away, but home tugged at him. He knew he needed to go back. He should have gone back months ago. At the very least he needed to cross the border long enough to call... someone. Let them know he was alive and safe and not stranded somewhere with a broken leg—either flesh or metal. 

Al had probably kept regular contact with Winry and half the other people they knew. He’d always been better at that sort of thing. No one had expected frequent letters from Ed, but they’d probably expected more than a few in three years, and even those had been vague and uninformative. Winry and Al were probably worried sick about him, but he couldn’t bring himself to just sit down and write something better to send them.

A nauseous fear burned in his chest. After three years with so little news from him, he wouldn't blame Winry if she’d given up on him or found someone else. Yeah, the last time he'd seen her he'd practically proposed—at least a long-term relationship if not actual marriage—but then he’d left and nothing he’d done since would have told her he still felt that way, even though he did. It had been the happiest moment of his life, but she probably thought he regretted it and was running away. And yeah, okay, he was running. But not from her or what he’d said, not really. He missed her so much some days that it was hard not to get on the next train that would take him home. 

He was running from what would happen after he saw her again. How long would he be content to sit at home and study alchemy and science? A few months? A year? Two years, like before? Eventually he’d leave again, for months or years with only letters between them, at least until phone lines became international. And though the world around Amestris was mostly peaceful now, he knew there was no guarantee that would last forever. Even if he tried to avoid conflicts, his travels would put him in danger sooner or later. How could a relationship with him ever be fair to her? 

Not to mention the dreams that’d started about a year ago, where the body beneath his hands was all firm muscle instead of soft curves, where his fingers tangled in silky black hair instead of blond waves, when the name on his lips as he woke gasping wasn’t one syllable instead of two.

He grimaced as even the memory of the dreams made heat coil in his stomach. He’d never seen Mustang that way when he was younger. Sure the man was objectively gorgeous—Ed had once grudgingly admitted that to Al when they’d been muttering behind Roy’s back about his latest conquest—but Ed was fairly sure he’d never been attracted to the bastard before. He just didn’t get attracted to people, Winry being the only exception, at least until now. So where the hell had his mind gotten the idea that he wanted to fuck Roy fucking Mustang?

It would have been easier to dismiss the dreams if it was just physical attraction. Initially he’d tried to convince himself that was all it was, but the third time he’d woken from a dream where the bastard had done nothing more than smile at him, making him wake cold and lonely and desperate for the warmth of another body, he’d had to admit feelings had gotten involved. A friend he’d made back in Aerugo had once cheekily asked if Ed was missing some sweetheart back in Amestris. He’d spluttered and muttered something about Winry, but in that moment it had been Mustang turning his gaze north toward home.

It wasn’t even like anything could come of it, whatever happened with Winry. Everyone knew Mustang was a womanizer, and even if that behavior had died down in the last five years, there was clearly something between him and Hawkeye. He’d never shown the least inclination toward men, and even if he did, why would he be interested in a man he’d only known as a petulant child?

Thus, he was in Pentroc. He’d happened to see an article in a paper about the Creta-Amestris peace talks, and it’d mentioned that Major General Mustang would be leading the Amestrian delegation. Mustang had been in charge of the talks with Aerugo too, a little over a year ago. Ed hadn’t tried to see him then, but he’d been nearby to hear news of it. There’d been photos of Roy in the papers in the weeks following the talks, and the dreams had started soon after. He’d looked every bit the leader he wanted to be, and against his better judgment Ed had kept one of those photos with him, tucked away in one of the few small books he carried in his suitcase. Maybe actually seeing the man would make the feelings go away. Surely it would remind him of how irritating and insufferable he was. That should cure him of this damned crush.

Of course there was no guarantee he’d even be able to see Mustang while he was here, and he had no clue what he would even do if he did. Could he just hover by the town hall until Mustang walked out, then go up to him and ask, “hey, Bastard, wanna catch up over coffee?” No, wait, wasn’t that how people asked their crushes out to dates? That was a terrible idea.

Okay. The whole thing kind of sounded like a terrible idea the more he thought about it, but fuck it, he was here, and he was done running. 

He passed through the market on his way to the hotel and stopped to get something to eat, asking the vendor what he’d heard of the talks. 

“Not much,” the man said, taking Ed’s coin and thumbing through it. “Today’s the third day they’ve been at it though.”

Ed shoved his hands into his pockets. “Is that good or bad?”

The man shrugged “Lord knows, but I’d guess it’s not particularly bad. If Amestris was making impossible demands, the Governors would have kicked them out in the first day.” 

“The Aerugonian talks only took a day,” Ed pointed out. “Both sides seemed content with the deal they got.” 

The vendor called for his assistant to prepare Ed’s order, then leaned on the counter, giving Ed a wry look. “The talks went quickly in Aerugo because they haven’t got our Governors. When’s the last time you heard of the Governors getting anything done in less than a week?” 

Ed grunted. “Good point,” he said, even though he didn’t actually know if it was. He’d mostly ignored Cretan politics in the eighteen months or so he’d been in Creta before traveling south to Aerugo. Politics had never been his favorite subject.

“It’d be better if the Crown Prince had a bit more power, you know?” the man said, then straightened to pass Ed his food. “We need someone in charge who can actually make decisions.”

Ed frowned as he took his food. “Sure, if they’re good decisions.”

The man huffed. “True enough.”

It wasn’t a long walk from there to the hotel. He remembered it as being both cheep and decent the last time he was in Pentroc, and to his relief it didn’t seem to have changed in the nearly three years since. 

He was less thrilled about how the young lady at the counter stared at him a moment too long, and a faint blush colored her cheeks as she blinked and put on a pleasant smile. 

Ed sighed and walked up to her. One thing he didn’t particularly enjoy about being older was people flirting with him, or even just looking at him that way. At first he’d tried to take it as a compliment, but the more it happened the more exhausting it was. He was probably never going to be interested, and it never failed to make everything awkward. 

"Room for one, please,” he said to her. “At least for tonight, maybe longer."

She gave him a shy little smile, and he managed only a slight scowl in response as she passed him a key and took his money. "Let us know by ten AM tomorrow if you'll be staying longer," she said sweetly, and he sighed and turned toward the stairs.

An explosion rocked the building. Ed spun toward the street, throwing one hand out to steady himself against the counter. The room flickered as blue and crimson light filtered through the windows, and without thinking he dropped his suitcase and ran outside, searching for the source.

The distant roar of crumbling stone mingled with screams as he skidded to a stop on the sidewalk. Alchemical lightning arced into the air, the source hidden from view by the buildings around him. But he didn’t need to see. His gut and logic both told him it was coming from the town hall, and from the sound of things the entire building was collapsing.

Crimson lightning could only mean two things. Human transmutation or a philosopher’s stone.

For three seconds he stared up at the sky, unable to force his limbs to move. Then a single thought kicked his muscles into gear, adrenaline shooting through his system: Mustang was in that building. 

He pushed through the panicked crowd running from the blast, the metallic tang of alchemy settling on his tongue as he got closer. The lightning was fading now, both blue and red, but the roar of crumbling stone still echoed through the streets. 

Dust rose into the air, a thick cloud around the ruins of the town hall. He dragged the collar of his shirt over his mouth and nose as he skidded to a halt on the deserted sidewalk, squinting through the gloom and straining his ears for sounds of life as the din began to fade.

Fuck, he could barely see through the dust. The hill the town hall had sat on was just across the street, a looming shadow broken by the sharp edges of rubble and sparks of residual alchemical energy. The immediate area had gone quiet, broken only by distant shouts and shifting rubble. A fist-sized rock rolled toward him and he kicked it aside with a snarl of frustration. He wished he could just clap and clear the dust or shift the rubble away, but without alchemy what could he actually do? The rubble would be unstable. If he charged in there, not even knowing where to look, he was more likely to get himself stuck or injured than to find anyone he could help. 

The cough of an engine snapped his head to the right. Darting into the shadow of the buildings, he took crept toward the source until the car took shape in the gloom. The passenger door shut shut with a muffled sound as the car pulled away from the curb. There was dust where the car had been, only slightly than the surrounding area. There would barely be any if the car had been there before the explosion.All its windows seemed to be intact too, which would be some fucking good luck considering how much debris was scattered in the street. The car moved slowly away from him, navigating leisurely around the larger chunks of rubble.

He followed it for a few minutes until the dust cleared enough for him to see the license place. He memorized the number, then stopped and let the car fade into the distance. He considered chasing after it, but if he hadn’t been seen yet it was only because of the dust. It wouldn’t help anything to be noticed, and the thought of Mustang buried somewhere in that rubble tugged him insistently closer. 

Coughing from the dust, he turned back toward the rubble, better sealing his shirt over his mouth and nose with a cupped hand. 

Up on the hill the air flashed again with alchemical light. For a moment he froze as renewed panic tightened his chest, but it was only a blue light this time, untainted by crimson. At least one person was still alive, and that person was a powerful alchemist.

Hope and tentative relief washed like cool water through his veins. 

Roy.


	2. Roy

Roy really should have expected this. In the past two and a half days he’d spent far more time listening to the governors’ endless arguments than on actual discussion and diplomacy. The peace talks with Aerugo had been quick and efficient, but Aerugo was a much more cohesive country than Creta. He’d expected it would be more complicated, but not to this extent. 

Creta may have seemed like one country at first glance, with its nine states united by a shared trade language and loyalty to an ancient royal family. In practice though, it acted more like nine wildly different adopted siblings reluctantly living under the same roof and all vying for favors from a single parent who could do nothing more than keep their fights from becoming bloody. 

He’d spent most of the talks thus far just trying to keep up with whatever was being argued about while drawing arrays in the back of his mind to keep him focused, a habit he’d picked up after the Promised Day. Relying on his gloves for most of his military career meant his general alchemical knowledge had gotten rusty, and having the ability to perform alchemy at the clap of his hands was too much of an advantage to go to waste. And if he was going to live the rest of his life cursed by the gate to see the world in shades of blood and military blue, he was damn well going to make use of what he’d gotten in return. 

It had taken considerable effort to hide his relief when Governor Melvask suggested they break for lunch. He forced the tension from his limbs with a slow breath and pushed away from the long conference table, following the Cretan delegation out of the meeting room as his men trailed behind him. Breda’s shoulders had noticeably stiffened since that morning, and Havoc looked like he was craving an entire pack of cigarettes. The two second lieutenants Havoc had brought as additional security didn’t seem much better; Korrits looked half asleep and Yuro rubbed absently at the deep crease between her brows. 

He sent Havoc to go smoke and the major flashed him a thankful smile, taking Yuro with him. Havoc barely spoke three words of Cretan but Yuro knew enough to get by. Breda and Korrits hovered at Roy’s back as they made their way to the dining hall.

The nine Governors had divided themselves into groups and scattered around the room, conversing in quiet, mostly irritated voices. Roy kept a subtle ear to their conversations, pretending to take an interest in the intricate tiles set into the walls as he waited for the food to be laid out. So far as he could tell, none of the Governors had caught on that he could speak Cretan. He only spoke Amestrian during the talks, allowing Breda or the Cretans’ translator to translate for him. There was always a chance of hearing something useful if they didn’t know he could understand them, but it’d been less useful than he’d hoped. The Governors would often switch into some regional language or another to have one-on-one conversations, none of which either he or Breda could understand and the Cretan’s translator didn’t bother to translate, but he’d kept up the act regardless. 

Governors Kasia and Gregor were just out of earshot, and as he stepped subtly closer Kasia caught his eye, giving him a considering tilt of her head. He gave her a polite smile and a nod, waiting to see what she would do, or if she’d guessed he’d been trying to listen. He'd noted immediately that she was the only woman among the governors, and many of the others looked at her with contempt if they paid attention to her at all. She was older than Roy by maybe a decade, but younger than many of the other governors, and though she argued rarely she picked her battles well. Her state of Szarvas had the least political influence, but was known for its recent boom in art and cultural richness, which many people there credited to her. She intrigued him, and he was inclined to trust her, but he couldn’t be sure yet if she was potentially a valuable ally or a dangerous enemy.

She said something he didn’t catch to Gregor, who glanced his way, bushy, graying eyebrows creased in displeasure. 

Wariness hung in Roy’s throat as Gregor approached him, Kasia following behind. Gregor, while not as aggressive in his arguments as some of the others, had seemed immediately distrusting of Roy, something that didn't seem to have changed over the course of the meetings. Not that he could blame the man; Crosov state had been hit hardest by Amestris’s attacks over the decades. 

"General Mustang," Gregor greeted him in accented Amestrian, giving him a cursory polite smile.

Roy dipped his head. "Governors."

"I will ask that you forgive my bluntness, General," Gregor glanced to Kasia as he spoke, her expression neutral aside from a flicker of exasperation as she watched her colleague. "Some of the other Governors may not be aware of your reputation, but as I am in charge of the largest part of the border between our counties, I have been sure to keep myself educated on the politics of Amestris."

“Understandable,” Roy said warily. "To what reputation are you referring?"

Gregor worked his jaw for a moment. "You are seen as cruel by some and merciful by others. A hero or a monster depending on who is asked. I wonder at the decision to send you here to negotiate with us, and would like to know the reasoning behind it." 

That sounded almost like an accusation, though Roy couldn’t be sure what he was being accused of. The truth was at least in part that Grumman was grooming him to be his successor. Building relationships with the officials of their neighboring countries was an important part of that, but he wasn't about to tell two Governors of Creta that he was set to be the next fuhrer. "It was the fuhrer's decision," he said, trying to sound apologetic. "I'm afraid I can't claim to know his reasons."

Gregor gave him a sharp look. "Don't give me that excuse, General. I know you're much more clever than you pretend to be. Even if the fuhrer hasn't told you his reasons I'm sure you can figure it out. Why are you the most qualified person to send? It seems an odd choice to me."

Roy wondered at Gregor's insistence. He was sacrificing diplomacy for the sake of answers, and he more than most seemed to support a peace treaty. Was he genuinely just trying to understand and not bothering to be tactful, or did he have some other motive? If not for the importance of fostering trust and cooperation with the Cretan governors Roy would have simply continued to deflect, but he needed these people to trust him and Amestris by extension if they were ever going to achieve an actual treaty. 

Straightening his back, he said, "I had experience a few years ago negotiating a treaty with the semi-independent Ishavalan cultural minority in Amestris. As you well know Amestris has had unfortunately few peaceful relations in its history, so generals with diplomatic experience are less common than you might think. My experience with the Ishvalans is likely why Grumman chose me to head the talks with Aerugo, and my success there would have encouraged him to choose me again for this."

"From what I've heard there are still tensions between your government and the Ishvalans."

"Of course. What Amestris did under Fuhrer Bradley's rule is not easily forgiven and impossible to forget. We are doing what we can to make amends but it will never make up for what was done to them."

“You mean what the state alchemists did to them, you included.” Gregor watched him carefully as he spoke, and Roy barely managed to control his expression. "So why you were chosen to negotiate a treaty with them at all, I wonder? Perhaps your reputation is the reason. Why would your fuhrer choose someone the Ishvalans hate and fear to negotiate with them unless their fear is the point?"

A sickly kind of horror oozed through Roy like thick molasses, black and bitter. "I was chosen to negotiate with Ishval because of my desire to right the wrongs of our past, in whatever small way we can,” he said coolly. “Neither I nor Fuhrer Grumman wished to use my history in Ishval as leverage, and I was very careful throughout to make sure that did not happen. Is that all, Governor?" 

For a brief moment he felt relief at Gregor’s cowed expression. Then it faded, leaving him regretting the intensity of his words. Shame wormed into his heart, cooling his anger. He drew in a slow breath, trying to recover some semblance of diplomacy. 

"Unfortunately most high ranking members of the Amestrian military were involved in the Ishvalan Genocide one way or another,” he said, gently as he could manage. They may have gotten rid of all the old brass who’d been in on the homunculi’s plans, but those hadn’t been the only people giving orders in Ishval. “I am confident Grumman would have chosen someone else if there were a better option. I am here in Creta representing Amestris as Major General Mustang, not as the Flame Alchemist. If you feel I have inadvertently used my reputation to influence you or the other Governors, I would welcome the opportunity to correct that."

Gregor’s antagonism had faded into uncertainty, and he seemed unsure how to respond. Kasia however just looked thoughtful, almost curious, which was more unsettling than it should have been. Her eyes looked as red as Ishvalan eyes to him, though Breda had told him they were green. 

"We both appreciate your honesty, General Mustang, and I apologize for my colleague's accusations,” she said, her Amestrian only faintly accented. “We are used to dealing with infighting among our own and the tendency to use reputation to influence and intimidate is common here, so it was an easy assumption to believe you and your people to be doing the same. But I do think, perhaps, you're not as aware of the implications and effects of your reputation as you should be." She gave him a polite nod, then tugged Gregor away from him before either he or Gregor could speak.

"Well that was rude," Breda muttered, starling Roy. He was shaken enough that he’d forgotten Breda and Korrits were still with him.

Breda raised a brow. "You alright, Boss?" 

He gave Breda a stiff nod, but Gregor and Kasia's comments had shaken him more than he wanted to admit. He looked over toward the food tables, where a couple of governors had started filling their plates and motioned toward them, forcing a smile as he said, “looks like it’s time to eat.” He didn't feel much like eating now, unease and guilt and shame sitting like old hardtack in his stomach, but it wouldn't help anything to spend the rest of the day hungry. 

Korrits and Breda started a conversation with the Cretans’ translator after filling their plates. Roy wandered away from them as he picked at his food, needing the space more than the security of their company. His eyes wandered the room as he paced a casual circle around it. A few of the Governors were absent, probably off on a smoking break or taking time for a private discussion. The Cretan Crown Prince was speaking with the Governor of Sigisra and the ones from Causeni and Zalejcar were having a argument in one corner. Most of the servers had long since emptied their trays and left the room, but there was still one man unloading sweet pastries and little cakes onto a small table. 

Kasia and Gregor were still talking as they ate, leaning close together next to one of the windows. Not for the first time, Roy wondered at their relationship. There were at least twenty years between them, and they did not seem like family or lovers or even particularly close friends, but there was a sort of intimacy between the two that spoke of some subtle loyalty. A couple of times over the last few days one had come to the other's defense in an argument, and as far as he could recall they had never been on opposing sides of one, though neither was opposed to critiquing the other. None of the other Governors seemed to have similar alliances. Some seemed willing to work together and were friendly enough, at least on the surface, but he got the impression most would quickly turn on the others if it suited them.

He paused mid-step, the back of his neck prickling in alarm. Something he'd seen had triggered his instincts, and he looked back over the room with renewed attention, keeping his movements calm and unconcerned. His gaze settled on the server unloading deserts from his cart, and he wandered closer, watching him out of the corner of his eye. The server's clothes didn't fit right, he realized. Too little room in the shoulders and thighs, and sleeves that ended an inch too high on his wrists. His hands trembled as he set down a platter of sugar-dusted cookies. A bead of sweat dripped down his neck. 

One look down at the now-bare cart told Roy everything he needed to know. On the pale linens there, stitched in red, was an array. A simple one, really, and it only took a moment to decipher its purpose. Explosions were simple, if you weren’t trying to control them.

The man pulled something small out of his pocket, something that flashed a deep, saturated crimson, and all Roy had time to do was clap his hands together and bellow out a warning before everything went to hell. 

He dropped to his knees, wincing at the impact as he slammed his hands down on the marble floor. He shut his eyes against the explosive flash of crimson light and tucked in his chin as he poured energy into his internal array dangerously fast. The light that filtered through his eyelids became a strobe of red and blue as the stone floor buckled with his alchemy, shooting up into a protective wall between him and the explosion that screamed through the air. The stone's power raged against his own, cracking and tearing chunks from the walls as quickly as he could rebuild them. Warning pains sparked through his chest, his strength draining away terrifyingly quick, but he couldn’t stop with the entire building collapsing around them. With a groan of effort, he pushed yet more of himself into the array, pulling up curved walls around the circumference of the room until everyone within was enclosed in a dome that sheltered them from the storm of falling stone and crimson lightning. 

Finally the roar of noise faded to just the muffled rumble of shifting stone, and his trembling muscles buckled as he let go of the transmutation. He rolled onto his back, taking deep focused breaths to stabilize his body’s panicked reaction to the sudden depletion of energy. There were voices and coughing around him as the shock faded from the room, but for long minutes he could only breathe and fight to stay conscious. 

Slowly, breath by dust-filled breath, his strength and awareness returned. Breda's rough cry of, "boss!" sounded a little frantic, like it wasn’t the first time he’d called for him.

Roy opened his eyes but saw nothing. The dome he'd made blocked out all light, and an instinctive fear gripped at his chest. He grit his teeth. He wasn’t blind again. He wasn’t. 

"Here!" he called, choking on the word as his lungs fought against the dust, sending him into a fit of wracking coughs. Light wasn’t the only reason he needed to peel back the walls; it wouldn’t take long for them to suffocate if he didn’t. 

Grimacing with the effort, he rolled up onto his knees again and felt with his hand until it landed on the nearest wall. "Everyone stay still," he called out in Cretan. The time for pretending he didn't speak the language had passed. He repeated the order in Amestrian for Korrits and… 

Oh. Shit. Havoc and Yuro had been out there. Had they come back into he room before the explosion? He hadn’t seen them, but then he hadn’t been paying attention for the last sixty seconds or so.

Well wherever they were he couldn’t do anything about it until the dome was gone. Fighting to control his concern, he clapped and pressed one hand against the wall. 

He grit his teeth against the the alchemy’s sharp, clawing draw on what little energy he’d managed to recover. Ignoring the pain, he kept the transmutation as slow as possible, not draining his strength any faster than it could rebuild. Steadily the dome peeled away in sections, tinting what was left of the dining hall a rich sepia as sunlight filtered through the cloud of dust. Once that was done he circulated the air, pushing out as much of the dust as he could.

He slumped against the wall as he saw—oh thank hell—Havoc picking his way toward him over the rubble. He had blood down the side of his face—not enough to be life-threatening, but still worrying—but as far as strength or alertness went he was clearly in better shape than Roy. 

"Injuries?" Roy managed to ask as Havoc knelt carefully next to him. 

"The Governor of Sigisra is unconscious and possibly seriously injured,” he said. “I think a statue fell on him, one of the big ones. Everyone else only has minor injuries, but there were probably dozens of other people elsewhere in the building, including four governors.” Havoc looked up at the alchemical wall curving up above them, face twisted into something between horror and awe. “What happened?"

"Explosive array on the dessert cart," Roy said quietly. "They had a stone. I noticed seconds too late to stop them."

Havoc looked confused for a moment, but then he stilled, eyes going wide. "A stone?" he asked, and Roy’s nodded stiffly. The color drained from Havoc’s face as he swore under his breath. “What about you?” he asked after a minute. “You look like you're about to black out."

Roy waved a hand, dismissing Havoc's concern as he braced the other hand against the wall and pushed himself to his feet. The world spun dangerously and he shut his eyes quickly, swallowing down nausea, but the vertigo faded after a few controlled breaths. "Just too much alchemy at once,” he said, leaning heavily against the wall. “I’m exhausted but not injured. I'll be fine once I’ve had a chance to rest."

Havoc’s expression clearly said, “you may not get that chance,” but he didn’t bother voicing the sentiment. They both knew it. The reality of the situation was starting to sink in.

Roy looked around, gaze falling on Breda and Yuro speaking to a couple of angry, shaken Cretan guards. “Were you in the room?” Roy asked, trying to see what remained of the rest of the building over the tops of the peeled-back walls of the dome. He couldn’t see much, just sharp bits of rubble pointing toward the sky. 

“We’d just walked in.” Havoc grimaced, nodding toward what was left of the once beautiful archway that had led out toward the hallway and the main entrance. “I thought at first we were damn unlucky to come back inside just in time for this, but looks like we’d be dead if we’d still been in the courtyard.”

An uneven clatter of footsteps made Roy look up. His breath caught in his chest, unable for a moment to believe what he was seeing. But even with his fucked up vision, even after not seeing the young man for five years, there was no mistaking the form of Edward Elric.

“Havoc," Roy said faintly, noting the way Ed's eyes focused on him, expression flickering from intense relief to a furious scowl. "Do I have a head wound I didn't notice?"

"Not that I can tell,” Havoc said. “And I was just about to ask if you were seeing what I'm seeing."

Ed's scowl deepened as he paced swiftly toward them. He stopped two feet in front of Roy and leaned close, practically growling as he said, “yeah, it's me, Mustang. What the fuck just happened?" 

Angry as Ed seemed, there was fear there too, eyes a little too wide and voice shaky with adrenaline. Ed would have recognized the crimson light and sheer power for what it was, would have already realized someone had used a philosopher's stone to sabotage the peace talks. If Roy wasn’t focusing what little energy he had left on just standing up he’d be terrified too.

He managed to give Ed the same stilted explanation he’d just given Havoc, then followed it up with, "what are you doing here, Edward?"

Ed didn’t respond right away, instead staring Roy down, emotions flickering across his face too quick and subtle to read. Eventually Ed seemed to make some kind of decision, shoulders drooping as he shut his eyes and leaned back against the wall next to Roy. He let out a harsh breath, tense anger draining from his limbs. "I heard you were heading the peace talks so I thought I’d stop by. Apparently I got here just in time to watch you nearly get blown to shit." He looked up between his fingers, giving Roy a sharp look as he hissed under his breath, "I thought you'd made sure there were no more stones."

"So far as we knew, there weren't." Roy wondered absently if he had lost consciousness after all and this was a dream. Ed had just… shown up, out of nowhere, after three year away and only sparse communication with those who knew him. Part of him found it difficult to believe this man was Ed, still expecting the short golden-haired boy he’d known for years. Now Ed was nearly the same height as him, slim and lanky and dressed in muted colors, bright crimson coat long gone. A younger Ed would have been shouting at him for possibly letting a philosopher's stone escape his notice, rather than bottling it up behind pink-gray eyes that should have been gold.

His breath caught, something that felt uncomfortably like grief sinking through his chest. He would never see that particular shade of gold again, would he?

Ed's eyes flickered past him, and Roy tore his gaze away to see what had caught his attention. Gregor stepped over a shattered sculpture as he made his way toward them, a makeshift bandage around his upper left arm and a scowl twisting his lips. 

Roy straightened his back, forcing his trembling legs to stillness and trying to seem less drained than he was. They were far past political games now, but the need for diplomacy and calculated appearances was greater than ever. If he wasn’t careful, Amrestris could be blamed for the attack. For all he knew Amestris was somehow responsible, though he would never suspect any of his own men and the idea of Grumman plotting this behind his back was too unlikely for more than cursory consideration.

"Governor Gregor,” he said by way of greeting as the Governor reached them. He managed to keep his voice steady, at least.

"Who is this?" Gregor asked, jerking his head in Ed’s direction.

“Edward. He’s a friend,” Roy said simply. Lies would get him no where now, but he still had to be careful about his truths. “He has been traveling for some years, and from what he’s just told me, he came to this area in the hopes we could reconnect, as we haven’t seen each other since before he left Amestris. Knowing him, I would assume he rushed here when he saw the explosion, hoping he could be of some help."

Gregor looked Ed up and down, clearly suspicious but understandably so. If Roy didn’t know Ed as well as he did, he’d be suspicious too. 

"And would you consider General Mustang a friend?” Gregor asked Ed.

His tone was more wary and curious than biting, but Ed scowled as if it’d been an insult. Ed took a half-step closer to Roy, something unexpectedly protective in his posture. “I get the sense you don’t like him much,” he said.

“I don’t trust him,” Gregor said bluntly. “Liking someone is less important than trusting them in matters of diplomacy, and entirely pointless in light of what’s just happened. That said I have more reasons to trust the General than you. He said you’ve been traveling. Where and why?"

Ed’s gaze flickered to meet Roy’s eyes for a moment, questioning, and Roy gave him a subtle nod. Gregor might have unsettled him earlier, but of all the Governors he was one of the few Roy was willing to trust at all right now. Gregor at least had seemed to genuinely want peace.

Ed bit his lip, turning back to Gregor. “I’m a scientist.” he said. “I’ve been exchanging knowledge and research with people throughout Creta and Aerugo for the past three years.”

“And what reason would a scientist have to run toward an explosion?” Gregor asked. “Are you an alchemist?”

Ed shifted uncomfortably. “I know a lot about alchemy but I can’t transmute,” he said stiffly. “I just want to help.”

Gregor didn’t seem to know what to make of Ed—few people did, to be fair—but at least he seemed less suspicious than he had a few minutes earlier. “Fine,” he said, then turned back to Roy. “I assume you’re the one who protected the rest of us from the explosion. No one else here is that powerful an alchemist. What happened, General?”

Roy sent Havoc to fill in the others, then gave Gregor as detailed an explanation as he could, only leaving out the involvement of a philosopher's stone. Omitting it was a risk; if it hadn’t been used up it might still be sitting under the rubble somewhere, waiting to be found, but the fewer people who knew about the stones, the better. He wasn't going to tell anyone unless it would prevent the stones from being made or used.

Ed stood quiet at his side, posture slumped and casual and hands stuffed in his pockets. But his eyes were alert, darting between him and Gregor and the rest of the room. It settled Roy’s nerves, a little, knowing Ed was keeping an eye out. 

Gregor watched him closely as he spoke, clearly looking for lies, but he didn’t seem to be jumping to conclusions. Suspicion and distrust was more deserved now than ever, but whatever Gregor thought of him, he didn’t seem to think Roy would have done this. It was a pleasant surprise.

When Roy finished Gregor let out a slow breath, looking down at the dusty, rubble-strewn floor. “There are four Governors unaccounted for, not to mention everyone else who was in the building.” Gregor gestured out where the rest of the building had been, the movement sharp with frustration. “There’s nothing but rubble out there. We can only hope there are survivors, and that they’re still alive by the time they’re found.”

"I only had the strength or time to protect whoever was in the room,” Roy said, hoping the regret in his voice sounded as genuine as it was. He’d done what he could to save lives and that had to be enough. He couldn’t allow himself to feel guilty for not saving more. Still, after a moment of consideration, he added, “if you or the relevant authorities are willing to work with me, I may be able to use alchemy to find and uncover survivors, once I’ve recovered my strength."

There were sirens in the distance now, police and paramedics on the way. Gregor glanced in their direction, then gave Roy a long, considering look. “I appreciate the offer, General,” he said. “I’m sure the police will want to speak with you before anything else, and whether you’re allowed to help is unfortunately going to be a political decision. If we’re seen working together it’s going to put more suspicion on me, and as this happened in my state I’m going to be under enough scrutiny as it is. I’m not willing to dismiss Amestris’s involvement just yet, and I may not trust you very much, but I don’t think you’re personally responsible for this. Assuming that holds true in the coming hours, I’ll do what I can to get you and your men safely back to Amestris, before the other governors can try to have you arrested.”

Roy inclined his head, a solemn agreement. “Thank you, Governor, and you have my personal guarantee that if Amestris or an Amestrian citizen is somehow involved, you will have my full cooperation is bringing those responsible to justice.”

Gregor raised a brow at that, like he doubted Roy would really keep that promise. “There will be no peace talks after this, I hope you realize,” he said. “Not for a long while. Regardless of your or Amestris’s involvement, or lack thereof, what little trust there was between our countries is gone.” He paused, and something almost challenging lit his eyes. “I heard your warning, by the way, before you peeled back the dome. How much Cretan do you speak?”

The question was clearly a test of sorts; a relatively small truth in exchange for a kernel of trust. "I'm mostly fluent," Roy admitted. “Another reason the Fuhrer chose me for this.”

Faint amusement softened Gregor's sharp features. "I’d wondered. You always seemed to be paying a little too much attention when we spoke Cretan.” 

Roy returned the man’s faint smile. Apparently Gregor was more observant than Roy had given him credit for.

A police officer’s shout reached them over the rubble, calling for survivors. Kasia answered from where she was tending to someone, probably the injured governor. A moment later she looked up and caught Gregor’s eye.

“I should go speak to the police,” Gregor said tiredly. He glanced at Ed, giving him a sharp look as he added, “stay here, both of you.”

Ed scowled as Gregor started to walk away, but then something seemed to occur to him and he called, “wait!”

Gregor glanced back at him with a curious frown.

"A car pulled up across the street just after the explosion,” Ed snatched a piece of tile off the ground and pulled a stick of chalk out of his pocket, writing something down as he explained. “It picked someone up, then drove away. Seemed suspicious, so I memorized the license plate number. It was a common Cretan civilian car, I think. It didn't seem new, but it wasn’t damaged either. No obvious markings, scratches, or dents. No way that’s possible if it’d been parked there when he explosion happened. The road was covered in rubble.”

He offered the tile to Gregor, who hesitated only a moment before he took it. He read the short sequence of letters and numbers and glanced at Roy before nodding. "I'll pass this on to the police. Thank you."

Ed settled back against the wall as Gregor left. He seemed relaxed at first glance other than the stress in his expression, but Roy could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, in the way he had his left foot pressed to the wall behind him, ready to act as leverage if he needed to move quickly.

After a minute Ed blinked, then peered more closely at the whole room, eyes darting to every corner of it. Turning to Roy, he asked, “where’s Hawkeye?”

The question sapped what little strength was keeping Roy standing, and he sunk back to the floor, knees drawn up loosely toward his chest as he leaned against the wall. “She’s in Ishval.” he said. Even after more than two years, his heart ached to not have her at his side. A part of him had hoped some distance and time would mellow his feelings for her. He should have known that was a foolish thing to hope for.

“I thought she swore to never leave your side or something.”

Roy snorted. “She did, and because of that she never would have asked to stay there. But she wanted to, so at my suggestion Grumman put her in charge of the military side of reconstruction. I would have stayed too, but the Ishvalans weren’t exactly comfortable with me helping them rebuild.”

Ed let out a sigh and sank down next to Roy, a foot of space between them. “Good thing I showed up then,” he muttered. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you.”

Something fluttered in Roy’s chest. A symptom of his exhaustion, probably. 

Before he could come up with some kind of witty response, Ed squinted at him, suddenly dubious. “Since when do you speak Cretan?”

Of all the things for Ed to ask right now, that’s what he went with? Roy huffed. “Since I was six. My aunt had a Cretan friend when I was a child. I asked her to teach me the language and she was happy to oblige. Had no reason to speak it, of course, but I picked it back up after Ishval. Figured it might come in handy, considering my aspirations.”

Ed just kind of stared at him, and it took Roy a minute to realize why: he’d volunteered information about his personal life. Ed had known him long enough to recognize how unusual that was, and yet Roy had barely thought about it. Well, it wasn’t really surprising that his inhibitions were down. He had just nearly died, and he was exhausted, and Ed had just appeared out of nowhere and, well…

Roy had missed him. 

After they’d gone back to Resembool he’d resolved to keep his distance from both Elrics. He hadn’t wanted to taint the peaceful life they’d fought so hard for with reminders of the military and their past. Not that he would have had time to visit anyway. The first couple of years after the Promised Day had been a seemingly endless mess of rebuilding and damage control. But he’d missed the Elrics, far more than he’d expected to. Edward especially. Over the four or so years Ed had been a State Alchemist the Elrics had become an integral part of his team and his day-to-day life. And now, with Ed sitting at his side, he felt steadier than he had in years, grounded and stronger, somehow.

“I can’t even imagine you as a kid,” Ed muttered into the silence. 

Roy smiled, but there wasn’t much humor in it. Neither could he, most of the time. His memories of childhood felt stolen from someone more deserving, peaceful years that couldn’t have happened to someone like him. 

He let a warm smile curve his lips and said softly, “it’s good to see you, Fullmetal.”

A blush touched Ed’s cheeks, and he turned away to hide it. But a moment later he looked back up, squinting at Roy suspiciously. “Did you hit your head? You’re acting weird.” 

“I could say the same of you,” Roy said dryly. “It has been five years since we’ve seen each other. I’m sure we’ve both changed in that time.”

Something Roy couldn’t read flashed through Ed’s eyes, but the young man covered it up with a smirk. “Now that you mention it, I think I see a few gray hairs on your head.” 

Roy sniffed, resisting the urge to run a hand through his hair. “You are mistaken. It’s the dust.”

“Whatever you say, Bastard.”

The insult didn’t have the bite it once had, and the teasing quirk of Ed’s lips softened it further, to something almost fond.

Roy huffed and leaned his head back against the wall, shutting his eyes. Ed had changed, hadn’t he? He could already see how age had softened Ed’s sharper edges, brought the warm, kind core of him closer to the surface. 

But he was still Ed. And Roy still trusted him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roy's colorblindness will be discussed in more detail in a few chapters, but for now if you google tritanopia you'll get a good idea of what he sees. I'm not colorblind myself and I don't know if people who actually have tritanopia see exactly like the example images on google (google search says maybe?), but since Roy's colorblindness is very unusual and has magical causes, I'm not too concerned with making it entirely accurate to real life tritanopia. So he sees like those images, but instead of a teal-blue, he sees royal blue, aka the military uniform color.
> 
> This chapter was super finicky. So many things to be discussed, so much happening, so many things to think about. Here's hoping it's coherent and flows decently enough. 
> 
> Chapter 3 is a bit lengthy and might take a few weeks, since my writing priority really should be my original fiction, which I've barely worked on for the past month. ^^'


End file.
